Archive for Things that Don't Suck
How to Give a Fuck – Gifting Ideas for the Glib
Posted by: | CommentsYou’re irreverent. Some people may even call you an asshole. Your ex-boyfriends call you a bitch. With the holiday season upon us, I thought it would be a great idea to make a list of gifts that actually let you express who you are instead of who Hallmark would like you to be.
Give a Flying Fuck
I shared this on Twitter this week and it got more retweets than a picture of Sarah Palin’s beaver. Actually, this is better than Sarah Palin’s beaver. It’s the answer for all those who could never previously give a flying fuck. Well, now you can. For £17.99 (roughly $28 USD), you can give your boss, father-in-law or other loved one the most portable fuck possible – available at Play.com (UK customers only, dammit all). Batteries are, naturally, not included.
Finally - you can give a flying fuck
Feck the Halls
Every year when you set up the Christmas tree, you say it. Some people say it more than others. In my house, it was one of dad’s favorite words at the holidays! Why not keep family traditions alive with this fabulous F-bomb ornament from Urban Outfitters? Sure, the stocking were hung by the chimney with care, but you hit your fucking thumb with the hammer in the process, right?
Decorate according to YOUR standards
Attitude on the Go
Where’s your flying fuck when you need it? Carry it with you and never be at a loss again with this adorable Angry Flower Tote from Zazzle.com. Starting at only $25.15 (and you can always find Zazzle coupons here), give that irreverent girl – or flamboyant, irreverent gay man – in your life a tool that they can really use this holiday season? (Perfect for porting fucking menorahs and the damn challah bread over the Hanukkah season, too!)
Carry your attitude with you
#Fbombing Awesome Gift
Everyone knows The Redhead swears like a George Carlin Wannabe according to CurseBird.com. Why not get that fan-fucking-tastic person their very OWN Curse Bird this year? This awesome t-shirt from T-Shirt Hell starts at only $19 and is available in both men’s and women’s styles. It’s more attractive than a Fail Whale and something to throw on when you’re doing the Walk of Shame.
Get your very own Curse Bird
You Gave Me a Fucking Book?
Give the twisted scholar (or perhaps, your mother) an academic account of the f-bomb. Documented over 320 pages, The F Word by Jesse Sheidlower rests on The Redhead’s bookshelf already. A steal at $16.95 list, those local to Denver can pick it up at the Tattered Cover (who recently hosted a signing event for Mr. Sheidlower, though I was getting laid that night so I wasn’t so broken up over missing the event). If you’re not local to Denver, buy it from the Tattered Cover anyway and support independent booksellers. Maybe you’ll see a book by me in one of them soon.
The best fucking book you'll buy all year
Another Fucking Book
From the book itself: Dirty Talk – Trust me, she wants it. If she didn’t, she’d fuck a mime. Speaking of, did you know Marcel Marceau was divorced three times? Enough said. That’s my kinda gal. Eve Kingsley’s Just Fuck Me is the ideal gift for your pansified rugby pals or your girlfriends who bitch (but apparently don’t moan) about an uninteresting sex life. And a cheap fucking gift, at that (list price $14.95).
Nice cover art...
Make Your Own Fucking Greeting Card
While Someecards.com is where you can find classic e-cards like “The only reason I would kick you out of bed would be to to fuck you on the floor” and “Let’s safeguard ourselves against swine flu by only doing it doggie style,” you can now create your own twisted greetings. Choose from hundreds of stock images and background colors and get randy this holiday season! Finally – a fucking e-card that doesn’t have duckies and bunnies on it. Unless you’re into that. And for all of you frugal motherfuckers, Someecards.com is FREE.
Disclaimer: This is possibly the best e-card I've ever received. Period.
Give a “Go Fuck Yourself”
OK, so maybe this is on my Christmas/birthday list. But isn’t the Lelo Elise vibrator the sexiest little toy you’ve ever seen? Not only will your kids not know it’s a vibrator, but your partner won’t be jealous of it because you’re a 120lb white girl and you can finally get rid of that 10″ vibrating piece of flesh you’ve had in the bedside table drawer for 3 years. Disclosure: I am a compensated columnist for ToyWithMe.com, but they have not given me a vibrator as compensation for the link love. I just think it’s the prettiest little “go fuck myself” I’ve ever seen. And I think the girl in your life just might agree with me.
It's the prettiest little "fuck you" I've ever seen
***Special thanks to Will Price for turning me on to a couple of these gift ideas. How well my friends know me.
Things that Don’t Suck: Colin Hay at the Soiled Dove Underground
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Photo Courtesy of Luiz Felipe "L8" Leite's Flickr Photostream
In 1982, I was ten. The proud owner of my first AM radio/cassette jam box and a fervent voter for the radio station that would play each day on the bus ride home from school. From days of thighs sticking to green vinyl seats piped in white as I waited for my stop in the sweltering Houston heat to sitting on a barstool in Denver, Colorado (gimp leg propped-up on a partner-in-crime’s lap), I never thought I’d see the man who sang of the mysterious Vegemite sandwich over the crackly bus speakers sing those words live. But last night, I did.
Colin Hay, former front man of 80s sensation Men @ Work, stopped by Denver last night, selling-out the Soiled Dove Underground in Lowry. Much like the Arc Angels show I recently caught at the Bluebird, I scored tickets and didn’t quite know what I was in for. Having been a fan of Colin’s long-ago hit machine along with many of his tunes made popular by the series Scrubs, I had no real knowledge about the man behind the music.
No more.
Holy shit, this man is funny. A master storyteller (glaringly apparent in his lyrics), our group was amused by tales of watching Batman buy coffee (as only a Californian could muse, “Ah, there’s Batman. He lives here, too.”), his laser-like precision in dealing with random (and irrelevant) audience remarks with a devilish school boy grin and tales of touring with Ringo. The entire show was more like an intimate Sessions or Crossroads taping than a concert, an artful weaving or stories and songs that still have my head swimming and soul humming today.
And his band. I had just as much fun watching his lead guitarist stroke his series of guitars like a lover at dawn, each note picked and strummed returning his touch. Fucking sexy to watch and I was glad someone was rubbing my gimp foot for the better part of the show (gratuitous and self-serving, maybe, but you can’t really masturbate in public, now, can you?). Guitarist aside, there’s no one in that band that doesn’t contribute to the bottom line and it’s pretty evident that they roll together like rice and raw fish in their purple and silver tour bus. While it’s not the Gulfstream IV of Colin’s days touring with Ringo, I think the bus suits them much better. And there’s not an ounce of pretension held-over from being a chart-topping 80s band in Colin’s show – his sense of humor permeates every note played. He’s a man who can laugh at himself - and you’re left with no choice but to surrender and laugh with him.
Personal faves from last night’s show are:
Waiting for My Real Life to Begin
I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You
There’s Water Over You (on his new CD, American Sunshine – release date 8/18/09)
How often is it that your childhood collides with your adulthood and you’re left feeling, if only for two hours and fifteen minutes (!!), like Lily Tomlin sitting in that big-ass rocking chair, feet dangling above the ground? Wide-eyed, open eared, afraid to speak for fear if you do you’ll miss the sweetest note of the show…it was everything I could do to go to the bathroom ten minutes prior to the show’s end. Christ, I had to go – thankfully, the acoustics at the Soiled Dove Underground are hear-the-show-while-you-pee good.
I tasted Vegemite once and hold firm in my belief that it’s crap-flavored sand, but there’s no crap in what Colin Hay’s putting out these days. For this audiophile, Colin’s songs are a beautiful blend of lyric mastery mixed with a solid assembly of collaborative, kindred musical spirits who have no problem say it, “Fuck it. Let’s play.” Add an underlying smile and you’ve got what’s the best part of Men @ Work – the man who’s still at work twenty-seven years later.
Things That Don’t Suck: Olivea Restaurant – Denver
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I adore the view into the kitchen from streetside at Olivea
A girl’s gotta eat. Last evening, my friend @caligater (owner of the funniest damn Gchat avatar on earth) recommended that we give this new joint uptown a try: Olivéa. I took a gander at their website, noticed they even had a gluten-free menu, and said shit-howdy: let’s do it!
Located close to Steuben’s and right across the street from Hamburger Mary’s, there’s convenient, albeit tight, parking in the lot adjacent on the corners of 17th and Washington (leave your SUV at home and opt for the sedan). There’s patio seating on the 17th Street sidewalk between the kitchen and front doors, ideal for idyllic Denver evenings, though we opted for a seat inside since temperatures at our 6pm reservation time were still kicking around in the 90s.
A minimalistic and modern interior doesn’t mean tight quarters or less-than-comfy seating arrangements. Being in a currently crippled state, the hostess conscientiously seated us at a two-top in the corner so I could prop my crutches up against the wall and be out of the way (thankya, dear!).
Now, one thing I despise when dining out is the standard pitch for bottled foreign water once your ass hits the seat. At Olivéa? Nada. Loved that. The table had a substantial and swank vase/urn/vat of Denver’s filtered finest at Cali’s and my beck and call. We hydrated at-will without fear of the financial repercussions.
Our server, Miles, was adorable and knowledgeable (shocker) and has a penchant for all things peach (so he told us). When I inquired about gluten-free options, he took me on a guided tour of the menu and mentioned each and every item that was or could be prepared gluten-free. He also indicated that he would check with the kitchen if I ordered something in question to confirm. Simply awesome.
The menu is one page, so you’ll avoid the horrific Cheesecake Factory-like overload stemming from some restaurants’ culinary ADD. Continental cuisine with a true Mediterranean flair, Cali enjoyed the most delectable Fairy Eggplants (delish!) while I enjoyed the Halibut Carpaccio and the Local Greens Salad with a Pedro Ximenez Vinaigrette (sans the manchego cheese). A sweet note about the Fairy Eggplant: they’re grown 40 feet away from the back door of the restaurant in an urban garden run by a local Denver woman. Talk about a zero carbon footprint and delicious to boot.
We finished our meal with a serving of two of their freshly-made sorbets: Peach Rhubarb and Strawberry Balsamic. Naturally sweet yet not overwhelming, it’s nice to not feel guilty after enjoying something so seemingly naughty.
Now here’s the best part: Fairy Eggplants + Halibut Carpaccio + Local Greens Salad + Sorbet Dessert = $31.36
Can I get an amen from the choir?
Olivéa has been open since May 2009 and took the place where AIX used to be. It’s extensively reviewed with four stars on Yelp and pleasantly surprised this picky, redheaded diner.
Want a tip? Join OpenTable.com and make your reservations for Olivéa (and other Denver dining establishments) through their system and earn 100 points per. A long-time member of OpenTable, I love my dining rewards certificates that I earn by using their system for something I have to do anyway and the certificates are redeemable at ANY OpenTable.com-affiliated restaurant.
Olivéa definitely does NOT suck and I’m looking forward to going back to enjoy their brand-new Happy Hour as well: $5 wine and food specials from 5-7pm Sunday through Thursday (bar and patio service only).
Get off your ass – ask for Miles. Enjoy some sorbet already.
